


Light 'Em Up

by trespresh



Series: I'm Half-Doomed, You're Semi-Sweet [4]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (Not So Secret Anymore), Explicit Language, I love the Rogues, M/M, Secret Relationship, mild frottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trespresh/pseuds/trespresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all fairness, Len had completely forgotten that he’d told Mick to come over. He’s got his back pushed against the wall and Barry Allen in head-to-toe red Kevlar pressed against his front, Barry’s gloved hands on his waist, Barry’s tongue on his neck, his collarbone, pushing into his mouth and—yeah, he definitely does not have his earlier plans with Mick on his mind at the moment.</p><p>(In which the Rogues find out much more than Barry ever wanted them to.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light 'Em Up

**Author's Note:**

> This had to happen sometime, and the Rogues are just so fun to write. Sorry, Barry (but not really).
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and I'm sad about it. Bet you can't guess who the title belongs to.

In all fairness, Len had completely forgotten that he’d told Mick to come over. He’s got his back pushed against the wall and Barry Allen in head-to-toe red Kevlar pressed against his front, Barry’s gloved hands on his waist, Barry’s tongue on his neck, his collarbone, pushing into his mouth and—yeah, he definitely does _not_ have his earlier plans with Mick on his mind at the moment.

_(“I’m bored.”_

_“Relax, Mick,” Len says in a calm voice that only infuriates Mick Rory more. He flicks the lighter between his thumb and forefinger a few more times, the scars on his shoulders and arms illuminated in the dancing light. Len keeps his eyes down on his Cold Gun, cleaning it with loving care._

_“We haven’t had a job in weeks,” Mick huffs, “and I’m bored.”_

_“I told you,” Len says, “I’ve been busy.”_

_“Yeah, you said that, but you won’t tell me what you’re busy with.”_

_Len throws a sidelong look at him. “It’s none of your business.”_

_Mick flicks the lighter again, glaring at him. Len sighs._

_“Come over tonight. I’ve got a job in mind.”)_

His previously-made plans with Mick are shoved to the back of his mind when Barry trips to a stop in his apartment, eyes bright and teeth showing in an eager smile that stretches his face. He corners Len against the wall, hands on either side of Len’s head, and Len didn’t bother to ask him what had happened that has him already impatient and hard against Len’s thigh. Barry’s vibrating lightly against him, his nerves trembling from what Len can only assume was a job well-done, another bad guy stopped or something like that. Len doesn’t care what happened—he only cares about the ending result of the high-strung speedster crowding into his space.

His fingers skim over the skin-tight suit while Barry drops open mouthed kisses to his collarbone, dragging over his Adam’s apple and up under his jaw— _god_ even Barry’s _tongue_ is vibrating (and how is Barry Allen even real?)

He trails a hand across Barry’s shoulder blade, up over his head to pull back the cowl, and Barry sighs when the hood drops around his neck, leaning in to kiss Len in the hard, unabashed way he only does when his adrenaline’s high and pounding after a challenging fight. Len tangles his fingers into Barry’s hair, tugging lightly in the way he knows Barry likes, and is rewarded with a strangled whimper against his lips. Barry's still trapping him against the wall, hips pushing desperately against Len’s, when a throat clears across the room.

“So you weren’t lying about being busy.”

Barry freezes against him, pulling back to rest his forehead against Len’s shoulder. Len ignores the quiet, “ _crap_ ,” Barry breathes against him, in favor of glaring at Mick over Barry’s shoulder.

Mick, for his part, stands in the doorway, a six-pack of Coronas in one hand and the Heat Gun raised in the other, poised directly on Barry’s back.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Mick,” Len says in hoarse exasperation. “Put your gun down.”

This has Barry swinging around without thinking, prepared to defend himself, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that he doesn’t have his mask on as Mick’s eyes study his face. Mick doesn’t lower his gun, his posture tense.

“Now,” Len barks, kicking off the wall.

Mick grunts, looking conflicted for only a moment before the hand holding the gun drops to his side. He turns and heads for the kitchen, and they listen to the light clinking of bottles as Mick puts the beer in the fridge.

“No hiding it now,” Barry mutters.

Len shrugs and says in a low voice, “He won’t tell anyone.”

Mick comes back into the room with two bottles in his hand. He tosses one to Len, who catches it deftly and twists off the cap. Mick looks between Len and Barry, eyes narrowed, and Barry’s sure he’s going to chew Len out, maybe demand explanations or rage about how this is a bad idea and what are they thinking—but Mick surprises them both.

“You sure he’s even legal?” He grunts at Len.

Len snorts a laugh. “He’s legal.”

“I’m right here,” Barry sulks before adding, “and I’m twenty-five.”

He’s uncomfortable with how long Mick stares at him, and, though he’ll never admit it, is actually relieved with how well Mick seems to be taking this. Mostly he’s just glad to not be burnt to a crisp by the Heat Gun right now.

Mick’s eyes study Barry’s face, glide down his body and the suit like he needs to reassure himself that yes, this _is_ the Flash standing in front of him, before he nods to himself. He looks over at Len.

“Can’t really blame you, buddy.”

Len chuckles and sips his beer, and Barry rolls his eyes. “I’m _right here_!”

+

A few days pass and Barry has come to terms with the fact that Heatwave is the only one who knows about him and Len. Better him—with his go-with-the-flow attitude and convenient lack of interest in anything other than combustion and ample amounts of money—than, say, Joe or Caitlin or Cisco.

Len hadn’t been lying; Mick doesn’t breathe a word to anyone about Barry’s identity. Barry suspects the two of them must’ve had a conversation about the whole thing, because Mick is surprisingly comfortable around him the next time he comes over to Len’s apartment a few days later. He doesn’t say much, merely nods at Barry and extends a beer toward him when Barry walks through the kitchen.

“No thanks,” Barry says, and Mick shrugs and opens the bottle himself, taking a long sip. “So, uh—” he swallows, shifting when Mick looks at him expectantly. “You’re, uh. I don’t know. Cool with this?”

“Len says you won’t fuck with our plans,” Mick says, his voice gruff and casual, and Barry is, as always, dumbfounded by the nonchalant attitude of the Rogues.

He rolls his eyes but decides not to tell Mick that, despite whatever Len must’ve told him, Barry will _not_ stand aside and allow them to commit whatever crimes they please. He makes a low hum of acknowledgment—the safest way to agree with Mick without actually agreeing—and Mick turns to him, a speculating look in his eyes when he studies Barry’s face.

“What?” Barry asks.

Mick sips his beer. “He seems—I dunno. Happy.” Barry stares at him, uncomfortable and supremely astounded. Mick’s eyes rest casually on the bottle in his hand. “Would hate to have to burn you alive if.. you know.”

Barry stares at him, mouth slightly agape, because—is Mick actually giving him the overprotective If-You-Hurt-Him-I’ll-Kill-You threat? How did Barry get himself into this situation? _Jesus_.

He’s so shocked that he doesn’t think before he says, “No you wouldn’t. You’d love to do that.”

Mick’s laugh is unnerving and does nothing for Barry’s discomfort. “Smarter than you look, kid.”

He leaves Barry standing alone in the kitchen, sulking and sincerely hoping the whole _kid_ nickname isn’t going to be a regular thing with the Rogues.

+

Len’s hands are heavy on his waist, his weight pushing Barry down against the couch in Len’s living room. He likes the feel of Len on top of him, holding him down, safe and surrounding him.

(Safe. Never something he’d thought he’d feel around Cold.)

He gets his fingers up under the hem of Len’s shirt, pressing against warm skin, and he can’t help but feel like a teenager, so absorbed in making out on a sofa and feeling so—

“I didn’t know you’d have company, Lenny.”

—caught. Again.

This time, it’s Len who curses into Barry’s shoulder. “Here we go,” he mutters against Barry’s neck before pushing himself up to his feet. Barry presses the palms of his hands into his eyes, preparing for the worst, before he follows suit and stands up. He can hear another set of feet fumbling around in the kitchen, glass bottles tinkling in the fridge, and feels safe in the assumption that Mick has arrived, too.

“And I didn’t know you’d be coming by, sis,” Len says, voice pleasant but with an icy undertone. “What’re you doing here?”

Lisa Snart smiles in that pursed-lipped, narrow-eyed way of hers. “Can’t a girl drop in to see her favorite brother?”

She’s already unzipping her jacket, shrugging out of it and draping it over the sofa before setting her Gold Gun on the coffee table.

“Of course, but a little fore-warning would have been nice,” Len tells her.

She smirks, and Barry can’t help but notice how similar it is to Len’s smirk. That snake-ready-to-strike tilt of her lips must run in the family. “Yeah, I’m sure it would’ve been.” She juts her chin in Barry’s direction. “Who’s the kid?”

Barry adjusts his shirt and is fully prepared to lie, maybe give her a fake name and play the innocent card, but the way she’s looking at him—suspicious and with a hint of recognition—stops him short.

“You look familiar,” she hums, and when her hand twitches toward her gun, Len takes a strategic step in front him. Barry takes a half-second to mull over the small act of protection—as if he needs it—and puts a hand on Len’s forearm. Barry hadn’t told him that’d he’d met Lisa before, when she’d approached Cisco at the bar all those months ago. He’s sure they can lie their way through this.

“Yeah, I—”

But he’s interrupted by Mick strolling into the room, beer in hand (and does Mick ever _not_ have a beer?). He stops at Lisa’s side and tilts the bottle in Barry’s direction.

“’S the Flash.”

Barry throws his hands up in exasperation and Len hisses, “ _Mick_.”

Mick bristles, “What? Didn’t know _she_ couldn’t know.”

Lisa tilts her head and her eyes narrow, never leaving Barry’s face. He’s aware of the way Len tenses in front of him, but Lisa’s hand that had been reaching toward the gun now comes up to cradle her chin as she studies Barry. He stares back, wary and tensed for a fight.

She surprises him, however, smiling in a way that reminds Barry of a cat preparing to pounce.

“Well I can’t say I blame you, Lenny—a face like that,” her eyes flick to Len briefly, and Barry feels him relax.

“That’s what I said,” Mick grunts.

Lisa’s eyes return to meet Barry’s. “You really don’t do the world a favor by wearing a mask, doll.”

Barry’s pretty sure his eyes are going to fall out of his head with how much he’s been rolling them lately.

These Rogues, _Christ_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> YOU GUYS ARE TOO NICE TO ME. The response to this series has been far better than I'd even hoped, thank you for all the love. <3


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